


Je sais, il fait bien froid

by Ymae



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Terminal Illnesses, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymae/pseuds/Ymae
Summary: Cosima is scared Delphine will leave because she's sick.





	Je sais, il fait bien froid

“I’m calling it now,” Cosima whispers, her voice barely above a wisp, trying not to trigger another coughing fit. She feels rather than sees Delphine looking at her. Cosima’s lids are half-closed. They’re lying in her bed, spooned by two blankets, Cosima absentmindedly playing with Delphine’s hair. It’s a short break from the never-ending research, the never-ending flow of needles and clear liquids and short, intense jabs of pain.

Cosima wishes she could take a break from her sickness, too. The shortness of breath, the wheezing sound in her lungs, the spatters of blood on her lips, the bloody tissues carelessly thrown on the bedside table. But she can’t. She can only lie still, feel Delphine’s wonderful hair between her fingers, and take uneven, stuttering breaths.

Delphine presses a kiss to Cosima’s forehead, quick and gentle, and Cosima shifts in her arms, buries herself in her girlfriend’s body.

“Calling what, chérie?”

Cosima blinks back tears. Delphine’s warmth makes her want to choke back her words, to keep them inside and quiet, but she can’t keep her blood where it belongs, either, and she can’t afford to choke on many more things tonight.

“I’m going to get much, much worse so soon, Delphine,” Cosima whispers, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Cosima, do not say that. I promise—”

“And then you’re going to regret all the promises you ever made to me,” she goes on, unrelenting. “You’re going to wish you’d been assigned to another subject. You’re going to wish you’d never loved me. I’m going to cling to you, barely even alive, and you’re going to wish this was a normal relationship. You’re going to wish you could just _leave_.” Cosima’s voice breaks right then, but she hopes Delphine can’t hear it, will take it for the hoarseness caused by the coughing. 

There’s a second of silence that stretches out in Cosima’s mind. She doesn’t open her eyes—can’t bring herself to move away from Delphine, either, not when she’s always cold these days and the embrace of her lover is warm for now—lets the doubts take her mind, twist the feeling part of her brain until all there is left is logic. 

Delphine had told her, once,  _“because you can feel it!”_ She had been right. There is a feeling in Cosima’s chest, like a moth trying to break free to the light, that tells her that Delphine loves her. That Delphine is genuine. That she will never leave her. That she will never want to. 

But logic tells Cosima that it’s never that simple. That, when everything else fades away, Cosima will just be another clone with a patent in her bones, another dying face caught on tape. That, when the words are replaced by coughing fits and all the warmth by cold hands and clammy skin, there will be no Cosima to love. Only 324B21.

And when only the science prevails, Delphine will search for herself a partner with bright eyes and warm touches. Someone who can move enthusiastically without hunching over in pain. Someone with kisses free of the metallic taste of blood. Someone vibrant. Someone who can’t feel themselves slipping away slowly.

Someone to take to dinner and a picnic by the lake, instead of searching for romance between  lab coats and the cold touches of  a needle. 

“Cosima, no,” Delphine says firmly, her accent suddenly a little more pronounced, like she can barely keep herself from breaking out into French. “I know you—”

She’s cut off by a violent cough bubbling up in Cosima’s throat. Cosima breaks away from her girlfriend, curling into herself, sweat beading on her forehead as she feels for a tissue blindly.

Delphine gently guides her hand to one, and Cosima presses it in front of her mouth as she coughs her insides out. There’s so much blood. Soon, the paper tissue isn’t enough, and Cosima coughs into her bare fingers, trying to catch her breath as her lungs constrict violently.

“Come, sit up,” she hears Delphine demand distantly. Her girlfriend clutches Cosima’s upper arms, lifting her into a sitting position, holding her up from behind as she spits up the remaining air in her lungs. 

As soon as Cosima’s body stops convulsing, her senses bleed back into her  skin. There are spots of red all over her clothes, the sheets, and her hands; tear tracks zigzagging across her cheeks. Her  top sticks to her uncomfortably. 

She’s in Delphine’s arms.  Her girlfriend is shaking almost more violently than her, holding onto  her elbows, pressed into her like she’s going to collapse at any given moment. 

Which, fair.

But also, “See, this is exactly what I mean.”

“Chérie,” Delphine tries to argue, an exhausted note to her voice, but it’s like she’s afraid of cutting Cosima off. Like every word she says might be her last. 

“This is what I mean. We can’t even be—we can’t even lie in bed together without you having to hold me up like I’m about to break. Your days are spent monitoring me—” Cosima feels Delphine stiffen at her choice of words, even though this isn’t what she means. Not quite. “Monitoring my health, trying to find a cure, and the remaining time, trying to make memories in case we can’t.” 

“This isn’t what we’ve been doing,” Delphine protests weakly. 

“I think it is,” Cosima says. “My point is—” she stops short, trying to figure out if the tightness in her throat is another fit, but the feeling passes. “I know the science is interesting, but sooner or later, you’ll be sick of dedicating all your time to me. You’ve figured out you’re bisexual, yeah? Dude, that’s like a whole new level of dating options. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. I know you’re assigned to me and all, but as far as you’ve told me, the contract goes for two years. Maybe then you can have your life back.” 

“How can a person be so smart, and yet so oblivious?” Delphine wonders sharply. Cosima closes her eyes, knowing she has to listen, and sways a little in her girlfriend’s arms. “My life back? Chérie, I don’t have a life to go back to. I miss France, yes, but—” She takes a deep breath. “Cosima, I have never loved anyone like I’ve loved you. Not a man, not a woman. No one. Anything that I’d like to do once this is over—once we’ve found a cure—I want to do with you.” 

“Delphine—”

“Non, ne m’interromps pas. Do not cut me off, Cosima. Je t’aime. Je t’aime toujours. I will never leave you; even if you begin to leave me. I’m not saying I won’t cry. I’m not saying I won’t need to take a walk when I see you dying in my arms. But I will work so I never have to see that happen. I have crossed lines, and even though I try, I cannot promise I won’t cross them again. But the only reason I will ever do that is to get to you.” 

Cosima wriggles out of Delphine’s grasp. She turns around,  clumsily holding her balance as she sits half on the blood-stained bed sheets, half on Delphine’s lap, and finally faces her girlfriend. 

“Don’t ask me how to believe me,” Delphine whispers, lowering her voice to a level that matches her lover’s. “I cannot influence that. I can only tell you to feel it, deep within.” She reaches out and presses her hand to Cosima’s heart. “If you cling to me when you’re down, I’ll feel honored. I’m clinging to you now. I can never regret I was assigned to _you;_ I might only regret I had to be assigned at all.” 

“I love you,” Cosima chokes up through her tears. She leans forward and falls into Delphine, their shaking hands intertwining, their hug sticky and needy and long. “I’m scared, Delphine. The odds of finding a cure—they’re small, but finding a cure that isn’t just preventative… those odds are infinitesimal. I’m not even sure we should be looking into anything beyond my sisters not getting sick.”

“I don’t care,” Delphine says simply. “I can love all of you, but I love you the most. I won’t lose you.”

Cosima buries her hands in her girlfriend’s hair, then, and Delphine presses her forehead to hers before they meet in a kiss. 

“When this is over,” Cosima jokes quietly, barely moving away from Delphine’s lips, “you won’t remember how I taste without the blood.” 

“But then it’ll be over,” Delphine says simply, cupping her cheeks and kissing her again, and again, and again. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... hi? I kinda got into this fandom just now, so I don't know if anybody's still reading, but I couldn't not write Cophine. If you did read this, thank you! I'd love to know what you think.  
> Title is from "Maintenant ou jamais" by Evelyne Brochu. I've literally been listening to this song for days on end. I'm listening to it right now.  
> I'm just beginning to learn French, so if I made a mistake, feel free to tell me.


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